I'm suddenly really happy that I finally get to use my knowledge of dance in a story. It's not like I'm even a dancer, I just really like ballet and my brother and sister are both involved in it all while I can't even touch my toes. Guess we all have our talents.

The best way to sabotage a ballerina is to target her feet. Even the most minor of injuries would cause her to be cast to the side because feet were the columns on which the rest of the dancer relied on.

All Natalia had to do was put a little broken glass in her shoes and watch her fall.

They shared a compartment on the train. Closer and closer and closer—

SHIELD had very little intelligence on the Red Room. In fact, they operated under the assumption that it died with the fall of communism in Russia. Natasha never sought it out. She found that a little strange. Surely, she would have at least done a little bit of research, if not for SHIELD, then for herself? In protecting herself, she was protecting the horror show that created her. She still was.

"He thinks I used him." Natasha didn't know what about Yelena caused her to confide in the girl, but as soon as she spoke of Bruce, Natasha figured out it was a good test of Yelena's manipulation skills.

"Did you?"

"Is there anybody we don't use, Lena?"

"I thought—"

"That you'd escape it? Possibly. I did this a lot longer before I woke up. I graduated. You haven't—and won't."

Natasha added the last part on the end, more for her own sake than Yelena's. The child was so small. Was Natasha really that small once? It was a strange thought. It was like picturing one of the Barton kids holding a decapitated head. Bruce thought that he was the only one with no choice in the matter, but looking back, Natasha realized that she didn't have a chance in Hell of being normal.

Natasha knew human nature and she knew the Avengers even better. They wouldn't blame Bruce for leaving but they would demand a sound explanation of every action from Natasha because they expected her to be logical. Was she not allowed respite? Was she not allowed to try and seek peace in whatever way she possibly could? Maybe she was delusional, but torching the Red Room and stealing it's secrets felt like it would wipe her ledger clean and maybe—

It would never be clean.

She will never be free.

She had to keep fighting.

"You are completely insane." Natasha thought to herself, clutching her head as a splitting headache ripped through her.

The reply came next, "No. I'm waking up."

Before

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Bruce asked one day, his head tipped back against the wall. He didn't want to admit how calming her voice was, but when she hummed that same tune as the sun set, he couldn't help but relax.

"I've been appointed as your handler."

"My handler? Like a dog?" He tried to laugh, but it sounded a little too forced and wispy. Natasha didn't buy it for a minute.

"A little. It's a spy and assassin term." Bruce winced. He didn't like being reminded that he was now lumped in with assassins and monsters. "In normal cases, that entails neutralizing you if you become too volatile, but that's kind of impossible with you. Basically it means that any unnecessary damage you cause is on me for not preventing it."

"Good luck with the job security." Bruce couldn't help but be snarky.

She shrugged, "You work with what you got."

"So you've been ordered to be nice to me."

"No. I've been ordered to keep you in control as much as I can."

"That explains the pretending to be nice to me thing, then."

"I'm not pretending to be nice to you." Bruce looked at her, but Natasha's eyes were fixed on the view, "You're my friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Are friends not nice to each other? I'm still new to the feeling."

She seemed entirely serious. Her tone wasn't light at all when she said it, and Bruce couldn't help but feel a little bad for her. "Not sure. I never really had friends either."

"Here I thought your upbringing was normal."

"Compared to yours? Maybe. Compared to others? Not really."

"I read your file."

"Of course you did." Bruce shrugged, "I read yours too."

"Wonderful."

Natasha returned to humming. Bruce wanted to know what the song was, but for some reason he was reluctant to ask. Instead, he stared out at the sunset, as he did practically every night.

"Sun's getting real low." He finally said, "We should probably go back in."

"You know, you go to sleep really early for a mad scientist. I thought you were all insomniacs." Natasha teased, but he didn't sense any bite to it.

"Yeah, well, I make up for it by being an early riser."

She smiled, "We can wait a little longer." Her phone vibrated. She checked it and the corners of her mouth fell out of its easy smile, "Wait for me, and I'll come back."

"Take your time."

Frankly, those days out on the balcony never got old for Bruce. Even if he knew that they were just manipulation and attempts at subliminal messages for the Other Guy, he loved the feeling of sitting out on the balcony and talking to Natasha like a normal human being. The strangest part about that was that she never let him forget what he became. Everyone else tried to ignore it for the most part, treating him like Bruce, and an occasional dose of the Other Guy, but Natasha seemed to understand that he was always there, ready to come out at a drop of a hat. Yet talking to her felt as easy as taking deep breaths to stave off the anger.

Maybe he just didn't want to scare her again.

After they established that the "lullaby" worked, something shifted between them. Bruce should have been irritated with her (or with himself for not realizing it) for having a hidden motive but he wasn't. She joined him on the balcony after that and even though he was completely aware of what she was doing, he still felt something more. He shouldn't have. He didn't know when it started, but he stared looking at her like she was more than an operative who ripped him away from his falsely peaceful life and beyond that of an ally or a friend. He was aware that he stared at her and went out of his way to seek her company and he was aware that she was aware of this, but he couldn't change the path he was on. Bruce made the mistake of being very fatalistic about the whole ordeal, like he had no choice.

He had one. It wasn't like she purposely decided to make a monster fall in love with her. She wasn't that crazy.

He hoped.

The elderly man settled on his sofa, not bothering to turn down the music. It came from an old cassette player. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, "You're Sokovian." Wanda noddd. The man, shook his head, "How did you find me?"

"It took a lot of time and effort. It was really luck." Wanda leaned forward as well, "Alexei Shostakov, we have no interest in dragging you out of hiding. You have heard of Natasha joining the Avengers, no?"

Bruce watched the man's face carefully. Natasha once told him about some telltale signs of anxiety. She was quick to tell him that there were no real tells for lying and that most of the ones that were talked about were urban myths, but anxiety was a completely different story. Alexei's mouth curved down slightly, and he drew his hands in his lap as if to make himself a smaller target. Bruce realized that it was one of the same actions he took when Natasha was mentioned.

"Yes."

"Who was Natasha to you?"

"It is a long story, dear girl." Alexei replied darkly, "And I don't know if I want to tell."

Bruce took a few slow breaths. He was getting irritated with the spy shit already, and they had only been at it for roughly a day. "Look. We just want to find her."

"May best if she's not found."

"Don't give me that shit." Bruce banged the table, causing everyone else in the room to jump, fearing what he would do if he turned.

"Banner—" Steve warned, but Bruce paid no mind.

"Your safety won't be an issue if you keep this up. I want to know everything you know and—" Bruce froze, "—What is this song?"

Alexei blinked at the sudden change of subject, "Wh—"

"This song." It was what Natasha hummed constantly when they saw the sunset—when she was training him—manipulating him. He desperately wanted to know where it came from, like it would suddenly solve all the mysteries that plagued him.

"It's from a ballet. It was never produced."

"About?"

"I don't think this is important, Banner."

Bruce didn't even turn towards Steve, "It is."

"It's from a ballet, it's about a girl sacrificing herself to a dragon. It was never produced because of an unfortunate incident. Three ballerinas were found murdered. The prima donna disappeared entirely. It was decided that it was bad luck."

"When was this?"

"1956." He shook his head, putting it in his hands, "All this time, I thought she was dead."

"Who?"

"My wife. The prima donna. My Nat came home every night until she didn't. Word spread about the murders but no one was looking for Natalia. I saw her on the news when your organization went up in flames—I couldn't believe it—my Natasha, alive and well."

Everyone in the room was silent after that statement. For the first time, Bruce noticed the framed photograph that rested face down in the evenings. Wanda passed it to him wordlessly. In black and white, clearly pictured was Natasha Romanoff high on her toes with an arm outstretched and a lively smile on her face. Something was written in Russian at the bottom, followed by 1955. She looked twenty or so, defying all logic.

"This is impossible." Bruce murmured, running a hand through his hair.

"I imagine they take her for a reason." Alexei's voice suddenly seemed very far away. There was nothing about this on Natasha's file. There was no indication of anything out of the normal, aside from being a trained Russian Operative and assassin. Nothing. Bruce took the photo out of the frame. It was aged convincingly enough. He couldn't find a twist or trick straight away.

"It appears Natasha had more secrets than we thought." Wanda plucked the photograph from Bruce's slackened hands, "We find out—where was the theater where they produced that ballet, Mr. Shostakov?"

Bruce was already out the door before he could hear the answer. Natasha had YET ANOTHER thing to explain to him the moment they (he) found her.

Up en pointe, Natalia rose and around and around she went.

On the floor, Natasha misses her cue to smoothly rise.

There's nothing like a fall to wake someone up.

Okay, guys, things are about to get really weird, but I promise, there's a point. I've actually thought this through, even if it doesn't look like it right now. Reviews are like cookies! And I like cookies!